Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Red Sister - Mark Lawrence

Red Sister is the first in a new fantasy trilogy from Mark
Lawrence. I’ve been a fanofMark’swork for quite a while, so I must admit
that I went into the new book with high expectations, and a little trepidation.
Could the new book, the new world, the new characters – could they excite,
horrify, depress and elate, could they
explore the human condition as well as his preceding works? Just to get it out
of the way, the answer was an emphatic yes. This is a book very distinct from
everything that came before; what it has in common though is a narrative that
pulls no punches, and characters that are beautifully, brokenly, repellently,
cleverly human.

Anyway, enough with the panegyric. On to the detail. I’m
aiming to keep this spoiler-free, but proceed at your own risk.

The world of Red Sister – well, it’s two worlds really.
Perhaps three. The first, the one on which we spend most of our time, is a
nunnery. It’s almost a closed system, a school of values, social and martial,
locked away on an isolated plateau, barely accessible. But inside the confines
of that nunnery, there are wonders. Girls are brought here to learn, and to
become something other than they are. There are classes on spirituality, of
course, but there are also classes on poisons. On bladework. On ways to tweak
the structure of the universe in a manner not always indistinguishable from
magic. The world of the nunnery is somewhat claustrophobic – the same girls,
the same classes, the same faces, day after d ay in somewhat splendid
isolation. But it also exists to be transformative, to give opportunities, and
to prepare a generation of children to be greater than they might otherwise
have been.

In any event, the institutional claustrophobia is pitch
perfect; the bells that toll out stretches of life are an example; from
changing lessons to fires, everything is marked, everything is regular, even
the irregular constrained within the system. That said, the air crackles with
intensity within those bounds – the reader can see something generations old, shaping people like hothouse
flowers, in every opened book, every
prank with digestively explosive toxins, every hand=to-hand bout. The nunnery
is a place, but also a system, and the reality and effectiveness of that system
is visible in the characters. The
obdurate walls, the cracked desks, the smiling or spiteful teachers – they all
come together to make this an institution which pervades the page, and will
seep off of it into your spirit, if you let it.

The nunnery, of course, is just a smaller part of a wider
spectrum. This is a world which, on its face, echoes the medieval. There’s an
Emperor, there are sword-wielding goons. There are sad villages, out in the
depths of nowhere, where people have to make hard choices whilst scrabbling to
get by. But there’s hints, to some degree, of something more. We see much of
this from the corner of the narrative eye – in discussions between characters,
in things which are implied in the unsaid word. The broader world lives between
belts of encircling ice – as much constrained in the larger form as the nunnery
in the smaller. But there is politics out there, and murder, and other,
stranger things. Unlike the Broken Empire, this is not a world defined by its
ghosts – it has more vitality than that, a sense of hopefulness, a sense of the
need for change, at least some of the time. This wider world doesn’t impinge
too thoroughly onto the concerns of the nunnery too often, but when it does,
the stakes are high. This is a world where, with sufficient forward planning, small
levers can still change the course of events.

Then there’s the magic. I won’t get into details with that
one, but there is definitely a sense of another reality there. A feeling of
something distinctly Other. It’s a space which can only be accessed by a few, a
space where danger sits alongside the cost that has to be paid for using energy
to change the world a little out of true. This strangeness, this otherness,
evokes a sense of caution, and of the need for exploration. Alongside the hints
of an ages old history littering the world, the magic is a strange and
wonderful thing; a sense of mingled wonder and terror is brought to bear,
either in spite of or due to the fact that what the magic can do is fascinating
and appalling in equal measure. In any event, the narrative brings it to life,
this other realm of hope and danger, just as much as the sprawling band of life
around the world, and as much as the intense energy and interpersonal intrigue
of the nunnery.

This is a world which feels real, and one which grabbed hold
and didn’t let go. It has hints of strangeness, touches of familiarity, and
above all, a vivid sense of place.

Of course, the tapestry of a world isn’t terribly useful if
you don’t have characters to put upon it. Fortunately, here the narrative
absolutely delivers. There’s a broader plot circling throughout, and more on
that later, but I’d be prepared to argue that at core, this is a book about an
individual, and their character. Our protagonist, Nona is drawn into the hands
of the nunnery, as a child, mortal clay to be shaped. But what is obvious from
her first introduction is a sense of will, an obduracy and a fierceness which
make her, if not different from her peers, certainly distinct. Each has their
own strengths – the girl who can touch the fringes of seemingly magical
otherness, the one with an eye for politics and the main chance, the one who is
actually a people person – but our protagonist is none of these. She is a
fighter.

That’s a simple word for a complex mentality, explored
throughout the text. Nona fights, not for grand, sprawling reasons, but for
personal ones. She fights to protect friends. She fights to settle grudges. She
fights for herself. There’s a core there of frustration, of rage, of a need to
do the necessary, and to enjoy it, in some ways. Nona can, at times, be the
monster she wills herself to be. And it’s an impressively frightening one. But
behind it all, is a fragility, a sense of fear, of misunderstanding. Nona is
not good with people. She relates, if not badly, then slightly askew. Her
loyalty to her friends is undeniable, a rock of solid truth running through her
– an urge to repay trust and loyalty tenfold. Nona is a lost girl, not in being
eternally young, but carrying the tragedies of childhood and sometimes struggle
to break away from them. She is a complex creature of fear, anger and loyalty.
She could, in other contexts, be the perfect weapon, the henchwoman – here, she
shines, a girl slowly moving to adulthood, trying top define herself and fight
against her demons, emotional and physical. In this respect, we see Nona
entire. There is unvarnished truth sat across the pages, as we delve into the
raw depths of Nona’s psyche. There’s an exposure here, a hurt, a vulnerability
wrapped up in anger, which leaps out of the text, takes you by the throat, and
won’t let go. But as Nona searches for the answer to the question of who she
is, and what she wants, the reader cannot help but be drawn along as well, in
sympathy, tragedy and victory. If Nona is damaged, sometimes wrong, and often
confused in herself and others – she is very real.

In becoming herself, she is ably assisted by a sprawling
cast of characters. Some get more time than others, of course, but they feel
like an ensemble. There are Nona’s sometimes-friends and occasional enemies in
her classes at the Nunnery, ranging from the seemingly perfectly aristocratic
to the apparently brutal. Each sparkles on the page, regardless, their
relationships with each other given room to grow. We see them through Nona’s
rather perceptive eyes, and they grow up alongside her – small rivalries ending
or expanding into other directions, friendships forming and mutating over time.
There are adults here as well – largely the teachers at the monastery, a motley
bunch, easily distinguishable – from the cheery to the starkly unpleasant, but
all with an energy and focus, a sense of humanity which kept them perfectly
plausibly on the page. In the end
though, this is Nona’s story – and watching her learn and grow, shaping herself
and those around her, watching her core personality emerge and stand against
the vagaries of the world – it all rings true.

The plot – I shan’t spoil. In broad strokes though, we’re
looking at Nona’s journey through the Nunnery. Her training, her understanding
of who she is, and exactly which powers she holds. That’s the closer end of the
story, if you like, following Nona as she becomes herself. As part of that
process, has a need for loyalty, and that loyalty creates problems, and
engenders es powerful enemies. Part of the story is in her surviving their
attentions, and seeking to do more than survive. There’s also a broader story
at work, the shifting politics of courts and martial geographies, the intrigues
of those around Nona, looking to use her in some way or another. There are
layers to the narrative, to what drives the reader to keep turning the page –
each has its hooks, and they all bind very effectively. If one edge of the
story is off the stage, another will be walking on, keeping your heart in your
mouth, light in your eyes – and keeping you turning at least one more page. It
certainly did for me, at any rate – I picked it up late one afternoon, and
couldn’t go to sleep until I was done, at some troubling hour of the next
morning.

Is it worth reading? Very much so. This isn’t the Broken
Empire, in either of its incarnations. It’s something new. But if the
narrative, the world, the characters – if they are all different, then the core
strengths are the same. This is an intriguing world, with a plot that will suck
you in, and characters who absolutely will not let you go. If you’re coming to
Red Sister from Jorg or Jalan – well, Nona is neither of them, but she is as
fascinating in her own world as they were in theirs. If you’re coming to the book
without reading Lawrence’s other tales – this will make a fine introduction. So
yes, this one is very much worth reading.